


a kick in the teeth is good for some

by thesaddestboner



Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: Abandoned Work - Unfinished and Discontinued, But It Kind of Stands On Its Own, Fighting Kink, M/M, Minor Violence, Not!Fic, Technically Unfinished
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-23
Updated: 2017-02-23
Packaged: 2018-09-26 10:56:31
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 646
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9892298
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thesaddestboner/pseuds/thesaddestboner
Summary: They fight as hard for that as they fight for what they both want but can’t ask for.





	

**Author's Note:**

> This is very old! And originally started for an exchange but I never finished it. The concept was Sean and Marty sublimating their ~lust~ for one another through fighting. Because they're mature and in touch with their Feelings. 
> 
> Cliché title from "Kiss With a Fist," by Florence + the Machine.
> 
> Hover over the French for a hopefully accurate translation.
> 
> You can find me on [twitter](http://twitter.com/thesaddestboner) and [tumblr](http://saddestboner.tumblr.com).

It’s always rough, violent between them. Neither Marty nor Sean would have it the other way.

They collide into one another, constantly struggle for the upper hand. They fight as hard for that as they fight for what they both want but can’t ask for.

Marty slams into Sean, sends him flying. Sean smashes into the dresser with a sharp crack and he collapses on his hands and knees, gasping in pain. Marty reaches down and grabs him by the collar, yanks him up and hauls him in until they’re face to face.

“Ah, Jesus,” Sean moans, reaching behind to prod at his back. Marty wrenches him violently, and Sean throws up a hand. “Uncle, I’m saying uncle, for fuck’s sake.” He wheezes out a slight laugh, the corners of his mouth twitching up in a wry smile.

Marty returns the laugh, a rich, full-bodied chuckle. He doesn’t let go. “That isn’t within the perimeters of this game, Avery,” he says.

Sean pierces Marty with a stony look. “How the hell ’m I supposed to keep track? You’re always rewriting the rules. Moving the fucking goalposts.”

“Just to keep you on your toes.” Marty lets go of his collar and slaps his hands against Sean’s chest, shoving him back roughly. “Think you can handle another round?”

Sean holds up a finger, staggering away, and presses a hand to his lower back. “Hurts.”

“That’s the point, isn’t it?” Marty asks, huffing imperiously, putting his hands on his hips.

“Yeah, but if I’m too injured to continue on...” Sean trails off, straightening up. His back cracks loudly; even Marty can hear it from where he’s standing.

He crosses his arms over his chest and taps his foot impatiently. “Well?”

Sean steps around Marty to examine the dresser he had been thrown into. It doesn’t have so much as a scratch. Sean raps his knuckles against it. “Knock knock, who’s there?”

“Cute, Avery.” Marty rolls up his sleeves and approaches Sean with slow, deliberate steps. He reaches out, fingers fluttering slightly, before dropping his arm. “So? You’re not pussying out on me, are you?”

A few seconds tick off the clock before Sean barrels into Marty’s chest, and both of them go flying. Marty throws out an arm, grabbing for anything to break his fall. He’s not fast enough though, and he lands on his back with a heavy thud, all the air squeezed out of his lungs on impact. His head hits the floorboards and his vision explodes in white hot spikes of pain. 

Sean crawls on top and fists his hands in the front of Marty’s green sweater. “Having fun yet?” Sean asks, his breathing labored.

Marty is too stunned to push Sean aside. “Banged my head.” He blinks, still seeing stars.

“Lucky for you you don’t have anything to worry about,” Sean says, chuffing out a laugh between cracked lips. He pats his hands on Marty’s chest.

“You gonna get off me so I can get up?” he asks.

Sean rolls off Marty onto his back and he sits up a little too quickly. All the blood rushes to his head and he groans, pressing his thumb between his eyes.

“You all right?” Sean asks.

“ ’m fine.” Marty pushes himself to his feet and looks down at Sean, who’s still sprawled out on the floor. “Maybe I should be asking _you_ that question.”

Sean sighs. “I think maybe I broke something.”

Marty nudges him in the side with his shoe. “Get up.” Sean doesn’t move, and Marty nudges him gently again. “You’re dirtying up my floor.”

Sean grins up at him. His mouth is bloody and his teeth are stained pink. “Fuck you. Make me.”

Marty stoops down, puts his face next to Sean's. He smells sour, the stench of cheap American beer thick on his breath. Marty grips him by the chin. " _Vas-y... Je t'attends._ ”

**Author's Note:**

> The author of this piece intends no insult, slander, or copyright infringement, and is not profiting from this work. This story is a complete work of fiction and does not necessarily reflect on the nature of the individuals featured. This is for entertainment purposes only. If you found this story while Googling your name or the names of your friends, hit the back button now.


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